I am still at the children's table.

In my family as you get older you get to sit at the adult table, leaving the children's table behind.
I can't say exactly what makes you an adult, it might be getting a full time job, getting married, or even graduating from college.  Whatever it is, I watched as my cousins slowly disappeared into the next room.  The room with fancy silverware, the room with mature conversions, the room with carpeted floors.

A couple of years ago the adult table maxed out, meaning I would be perpetuity at the children's table.  Stuck forever in the room with milk, not coffee, linoleum floors for easy slip clean-up, and plastic cups.

I was pretty upset at first.  Moving up to the adult table was something I always looked forward to.  The adult table had a sense of prestige about it, a sort of mystery, and seemed to demand a respect from the younger, less mature cousins that hadn't made it to the adult table.

A lot of my friends have been leaving the children's table lately.  (Some are even having babies to fill their own children's table.)  They are stepping into these new, exciting, different stages of life where their responsibilities are more than just themselves.  While I remain at the children's table.

As I sit at the continually shrinking child table, watching people move up to the adult table, I thought about why I'm still at this table.  There is so much the Lord has been teaching me and showing lately, while I'm sit here.  I think that the Lord is refining me at this table, preparing me, making me ready and when I finally do get moved up to the adult table, I'll be ready or closer to ready than I am now.

So unlike my family functions, I will not be perpetuity at the children's table in life.  But I'm here now and for a reason.  I am realizing, learning and enjoying it while I'm here because someday I won't be at the children's table anymore, things will change, life will change, but that day is not today.  So, thanks for the extra time at the children's table, I know it will be well worth it.

I have two chores at my house.
The first is recycling.  I was told it was my job because I'm "earthy" and I am good at organizing.
Truth be told, I do enjoy recycling, I feel like I'm doing my part and have even created a system for organizing paper, plastic, glass and aluminum.

The second is vacuuming.  I'm pretty sure I was just given this job because no one else wanted to do it.  Unlike recycling, which happens every week, I often wait large amount of time in-between each time I vacuum.  I just don't think the carpet looks dirty, so I don't do it.

When I do vacuum, I enjoy it when I get to vacuum up an actual mess.  A spill on the rug.  Beneath the couch that hasn't been moved for months.  Recently, around a real Christmas tree.
It makes me feel like I've accomplished something.  I can see the mess disappearing.  I can see the result.

Sure I know that when I'm vacuuming up the less messy spots I'm still cleaning little microscopic dirt, hair, and other gross stuff that needs to be cleaned.  But it's not as fun.  It's not as enjoyable.  It's just not the same.

A lot of the times we don't see the result and it is not the same as seeing the result.  We can easily become unmotivated and lazy by the lack of result.  Of course when we see results we want to keep going, keep looking for more mess, keep cleaning.  We are motivated by what we see.
But we don't always see the results.  And I don't think we are meant to.

If we were able to see the result, the why, the reason we do it changes pretty quietly.  It's not about what is behind the action so much, as what you can get from the action.  
It's not meant to be about he result but about the heart behind it.  It's meant to be about the why, not the action itself. 

If we always saw results of every good work we did, it would too quickly increases our motivation from glorifying God to glorifying ourselves.  I think God keeps us from seeing the result to help us, to bring us closer, to help keep our hearts a glorifying position.

If I only vacuumed the big messes, the one I could see with my eyes, I would miss a lot of dirt that I can't see.  I would miss out on a lot and it would be just because I couldn't see the result. 

The first big snow of every winter always catches me off guard.  Or I should say I let it catch me off guard.
  I usually don't want to hear about it, I stop listening to the radio or watching the weather forecast.   I would just prefer to not know and pretend like its not going to happen.  Sometimes I even try to make plans on that day to show the storm that I don't really think it is going to be as bad as they say.

But it still comes.
And it usually is that bad.

On Saturday we had our first big snow.  My day started off with helping a neighbor push his car out of the alley for an hour.
Clue number one.

That should have told me it was going to be bad.  However, I continued to make plans, trusting it was going to stop soon.
It didn't.

When my cousin and her family came home and told horror stories of the road, I refused to listen.
"It's really bad out there."
"I don't think you'll be going anywhere today."
Sure...
Clue number two.

We even tried to look for the shovel, which we later learned had fallen over and become buried in the snow.  (Trying to dig out your shovel so that you can shovel out your car, ironic).

I still didn't want to believe in the power of the storm.
I continued to go about my day, avoiding windows, getting things done for the night, and ignoring all the talk about the snow.

At about noon I was forced to go outside to get something from my car.
From my car buried up to the roof in snow.
Clue number three.

Standing outside staring at my car I began to scan the streets. Seeing five cars stuck, no distinction between road and sidewalk and the absence of the number 5 bus on the corner that is rarely late, I started to let the storm affected me. I realized that it might actually be bad.

Entering the house my thoughts began to change, from there is no way this is actually going to happen to this is never going to stop.

I watched the window closely, believing that my car was going to be buried, believing I was never going to get to leave my house until spring, and believing it was never going to stop snowing.
But of course it did.

After the snow stopped falling and the wind stopped blowing there was a certain, uninhibited calm about it all.  I went outside to help shovel and the previous vacant streets were filled with people.
There was a family pulling their children around in a sled.  There was a couple walking down the middle of the street with hot chocolate. There were neighbors coming together to help shovel out cars, sidewalks, and driveways.

I began to think things might be normal again.

But as I stood in the middle of the street under the light of the street lamp I didn't want it to go back to normal.  I wanted everything to stay shut down. I wanted to live in the quiet. I wanted to live in the calm for a little while longer.

The day I fought so hard against. The day I didn't believe it.  The day that came anyways.
I wanted to stay.  I wanted it to stay a snow day.

I react to change in a similar way I reacted to the snow that day.  I want it to be my own plans, my own decisions, my own way, no surprises.
But thankfully God plans it.  They aren't my plans, they aren't my decisions, it's not my way, and there are surprises.
I can't change His plans, even when I pretend they aren't going to happen, it is not going to affect me or don't except the truth.
They still happen.
And I always end up realizing He is good.
I want to stay in His presence.  I want to be in awe of His power.  I want to accept His plans.
Because His plans are vastly better than mine could ever be.

Sometimes God knows that I just need a snow day to stop, look, and realize that I'm not the one in control, He is, and there is no better way.

next week.

i have a lot of ideas and thoughts i want to share, i just can't find the time.

soon. i'll blog up a storm. (and maybe about it too)

how i'll blog.